


Before The Sun Comes Up Today

by heartsung



Category: Katekyou Hitman Reborn!
Genre: M/M, One Shot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-12-11
Updated: 2011-12-11
Packaged: 2017-10-27 05:11:18
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,133
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/291936
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/heartsung/pseuds/heartsung
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"Out of the blue, Gokudera’s eyes snapped up and locked onto his, trapping him."<br/>Set between the fight with Gamma and the Melone Base invasion.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Before The Sun Comes Up Today

**Author's Note:**

> Another fanfic that was beta'd by my Gokudera and my wifey~ Thank you both! <3  
> This is just something that ... kind of appeared in my head and forced me to write it. Thankfully. xD  
> Finished this in October, but didn't find a fitting title. Until now. So, yeah. Enjoy! :D And comment, please~ :3

**BEFORE THE SUN COMES UP TODAY**

 

‘Hey! Come back, you idiot cat!’

Takeshi grinned, watching as Gokudera chased Uri, who’d stolen most of his dinner just moments ago, around the table. Predictably, Lambo and I-Pin had joined the hunt almost immediately – the little cow because he’d apparently decided that “Chase the Kitty” in combination with “Annoy Gokudera” was his new favourite game, and the small girl because she was, as always, trying to stop him from doing any harm (which would, most likely, be impossible anyway) – and were now following after Gokudera, who still hadn’t managed to catch his box animal, which seemed to be having a lot of fun.

Takeshi – reluctantly – tore his eyes away from the show and glanced at the others in the kitchen: Tsuna was following the chase as well, laughing in a way that made his face look as if there’d never been a care in his world – as if there still wasn’t. But he wasn’t the only one laughing, of course: the two girls were as well, just like Sasagawa-senpai and the Fuuta kid (although it felt wrong to still call him that, given how tall he’d become). The only ones who remained serious (who were, in fact, completely ignoring the incident) were Gokudera’s sister, Lal Mirch and the kid – no surprises there; those three seemed to be the only ones entirely unable to forget what lay ahead of them (Hibari excluded, since the guy still kept to himself at all times). He allowed his eyes to focus on Reborn’s for a moment, trying (like so many times before) to figure out the Arcobaleno’s thoughts, intentions and plans (because he always had those, hidden from everyone else in the safety of his mind – Takeshi knew this much by now) … and, as he’d expected, failed once more. He let out a soft sigh and turned back to the others – still grinning widely, of course, he hadn’t stopped for a second –, and (not unwillingly) burst into laughter at what he saw: Gokudera, sitting cross-legged on the floor, with Uri, who was meowing triumphantly, perched on his head and a grinning six-year-old hanging off each of his arms, making him unable to stand. The boy’s expression had changed from a point that was more close to infuriated than anything else – which was what it had been like during the chase – to something that was closer to loving than he’d probably be wiling to admit to anyone. And yet here he was, showing it to anyone who knew what to look for (or was perceptive enough to notice how he relaxed just slightly, how the hard lines around his eyes smoothed out so little it almost remained invisible …), completely unaware of what he was doing. Takeshi felt his grin slip a little, fade from its usual brightness to something more subdued (he highly doubted that anyone would notice), but quickly brought it back to its usual shine. He kept his eyes trained on Gokudera, scrutinising his face, noticing even the most minimal change in his expression.

 

Out of the blue, Gokudera’s eyes snapped up and locked onto his, trapping him. It always was that way these days: whenever the Storm Guardian looked at him – _really_ did so, not just a small glance while passing by in the halls –, he was, for lack of a better word, mesmerised. And he kind of hated it, this inability to see anything but those green eyes, to feel anything but the heat radiating from them. But then again … he didn’t really, did he? He wanted it, all of it, and he’d come to terms with that fact a while ago. No, what he actually did hate was that, as long as things remained the way they were, he’d remain the only one who knew what these looks meant – because it was obvious that Gokudera didn’t. And Takeshi was doing his best to make sure no-one else noticed anything until Hayato did (at least when said person wasn’t rendering him unable to think about anything else without knowing it). And it would still be a very, very long time until that happened … if it did at all.

An instant before Takeshi’s grin would have faded away without him wanting (or, actually, noticing) it, Gokudera looked down again and began flailing his arms around violently in a vain attempt to make Lambo and I-Pin let go of him. Laughing quietly again (and that along with everyone else), he ran one hand through his hair, relieved that what had seemed like minutes to him had apparently been no more than a few seconds. That was another thing he’d have sort of preferred to be different, had it been possible: whenever Gokudera managed to catch his attention, he lost track of time completely. Not usually when the attention was one-sided, but every time they both concentrated on each other. And the bad thing was that … he didn’t hate it. He liked it, a lot … and wanted it, too. Because he knew exactly what it meant (if the Storm Guardian felt the same way, he probably had no idea why – or did have one but refused to admit it), and he’d accepted it quite a while ago. He wasn’t going to be able to change his own feelings, and that was fine – he just wished it were possible for him to show them openly. But, obviously, that wasn’t going to happen.

 

Takeshi jumped when his train of thoughts was interrupted again, this time by something distinctly furry landing in his lap, and blinked in surprise when he looked down and recognised the thing as Uri, who had apparently been flung off Gokudera’s head during his attempt to get rid of the two kids, and was currently curling up on him while mewing in a way that could only be described as very, very satisfied. Yamamoto raised his had again, smiling slightly … and was frozen in place once more by Gokudera’s eyes, piercing and angry and burning and freezing and – _gentle_?!

Caught off guard, he blinked, and after the split second it took him to do that, the strange expression had disappeared from the silver-haired boy’s eyes, and he was heatedly snapping at Uri as he snatched the cat from his new favourite place (or at least that was what it seemed to be) and stomped out of the kitchen, probably to try and get him back into the box – and fail. With a semi-instinctive and not really at all conscious movement, Takeshi stood up as well, flashing a grin at the others who were still gathered around the table and, for the most part, still laughing, and made a really not-at-all serious comment about helping Gokudera before hurrying off and heading for his room. He did try to keep his thoughts under control as he waited for the lift to arrive, but failed nonetheless and almost immediately found them reeling back to the gentleness he’d seen in Gokudera’s eyes earlier. It confused him, on a level that was (not entirely, but still quite) new to him, for a small variety of reasons – the most important being that, so far, he’d never seen him look at anyone with an expression that was even _similar_ (not counting Uri, of course, _everyone_ could see how much Hayato loved his box animal), and to have it directed at himself, if even for the fraction of a second … felt beyond weird. Especially considering the promises Takeshi had made to himself (and, silently, to Gokudera as well), and how that one look could possibly change the conditions he was working under completely. He wasn’t ready to assume as much, far from it, but the _possibility_ was now looming at the edge of his mind, nagging, insistent and _important_. Way more important than he could afford it to be, since he, like all of them, had to focus on the battle ahead, had to focus on not failing his friends, his _family_.

 

Takeshi wasn’t surprised when, as soon as he entered his room and saw Shigure Kintoki lying on his bed, he felt the overwhelming urge to pick it up, head down to the dojo and train – it was only natural; training had become his way of shutting everything out, of finding the time to sort through his thoughts and reach conclusions that weren’t based solely on assumptions and wishes. With one fluid, controlled movement he leaned down, picked the _shinai_ up and stepped back out of the room again, sighing softly at the feeling of security and calm that spread through his body and originated in his fingers, the exact same thing he experienced whenever he took a baseball bat in his hands: the wooden piece became another part of him, an extension of his limbs, something that had to be there for him to function perfectly, something _right_. Making his way to the dojo, standing in the lift again, Takeshi chuckled to himself – he’d never allow anyone to hear those thoughts regarding his weapon, or they might think of him as insane (although he _did_ sometimes wonder if that wouldn’t be close to the truth, but those kinds of thoughts probably just appeared because he was a teenager, and more or less every teenager was supposed to have them at one point, right?), and then, slowly, grew completely silent; something that only seemed possible for him when he was training (or playing baseball, or fighting).

 

He made no sound when entering the pitch-dark dojo, and didn’t bother with switching the lights on. He didn’t need them anymore, hadn’t needed them for quite a while, since he seemed to spend more time here than anywhere else in the underground base – sometimes, although not too often, he even slept down here, where no-one but the kid would come to disturb him (and weird as it sounded, he understood Hibari by now, at least in his need to have a place to himself, where nobody else would dare intrude). Without really thinking about what he did, Takeshi collected some of the bamboo sticks scattered around the room and placed them in a near-perfect circle around himself like so many times before, slightly amazed at how natural that, too, was to him by now. He sighed softly, hesitating for a moment before carefully leaning Shigure Kintoki against one of the sticks and quickly pulling his shirt off. It wasn’t too warm inside the base – it really never was _too much_ of any temperature extreme, thanks to the air conditioning –, but he’d come to appreciate the added freedom of movement the lack of a shirt brought him while training (at least when he was alone; he never trained shirtless while anyone else was around).

Still silent and with his eyes closed, he bent down to pick his sword back up, and felt his posture straighten, knew he seemed taller now than before, and stronger (more intimidating), before opening them and sinking into the flow of movements and pure, undiluted _sensations_ that Shigure Souen meant for him. As he went through the forms that had become as instinctive to him as breathing or smiling, he let himself wonder what Gokudera’s expression in the kitchen might have meant, where it could have come from and where it would lead, and he wasn’t surprised when he found himself hoping (against most of his rational knowledge) that it had been meant for _him_. His movements slowed momentarily, and he sighed again without really knowing why – perhaps because he was aware that his thoughts would keep circling around that _look_ all night if he didn’t do anything about it _soon_ –, but didn’t try to fight the relaxed, satisfied smile that had been tugging at the corners of his mouth since he started his training. He settled back into the flow of his style – because that was what Shigure Souen had become: _his_ style – without another second’s hesitation, fully conscious that no-one except maybe the kid would even have noticed the slight break in his actions anymore (a few months ago, it would have been obvious to everyone; he really had improved, like all of them), and banned all thoughts from his mind, letting himself grow into unity with his weapon and losing track of time as well as his surroundings (something he only did while training – he knew that in a real fight, doing so could, and most likely would, be fatal).

 

‘Oi, Yakyuu Baka, you in here?’

Takeshi froze when the door to the dojo slid open, then instinctively backed into the shadows that the light falling in from the hallway created. He recognised the voice at once – and really, how could he _not_? No-one else called him “baseball idiot” –, but didn’t react immediately. He was confused; what was Gokudera doing here? He’d never come here before, neither to watch him train nor to talk to him if he wanted something … so why was he doing it now?

Silently, he watched Gokudera’s silhouette grow taller, which meant that he’d fully entered the room now – a suspicion that was confirmed when the door was shut again, leaving them both in darkness. ‘Come on, Yamamoto, I know you’re he- ow!’ He didn’t even have to guess what had happened: the Storm Guardian, unused to the dojo itself and even more off-balance due to the darkness inside it, had collided with one of the bamboo sticks still standing in the same circle as when he’d started his training (with the slight difference that most of them were significantly shorter than before, or were missing chunks of various, but without fail geometric shapes) and had fallen over, with the stick landing on top of him. Squarely on his head, if the curses that were now spilling from his mouth were anything to go by. With a semi-guilty expression, Takeshi winced, but couldn’t help grinning at what he heard and knew he’d see if he switched the light on. Which reminded him … He soundlessly set Shigure Kintoki down, making sure to keep it close to the walls so the risk of Gokudera stepping on it would be minimal, and, equally quiet, headed for the light switch on the opposite wall. He knew he could have chosen to stay alongside the walls (and be sure to stay clear of any possible contact with sticks or Gokudera), but, following an impulse, took the direct route through the middle of the dojo.

Manoeuvring around the sticks was an easy task, a fact that reflected in the smile spreading on his lips. This was _his_ domain, and he knew it better than anyone, else, the kid included. There were exactly thirteen feet left he had to cross now, until-

 

He crashed, full-on, into something solid and … warm?! The smile vanished instantly as he tried to back away again, momentarily disoriented, but was met with skinny but strong arms wrapping around him, trapping him, and a dark but quiet laugh from in front of him. He froze once more when he realised what had probably happened: somehow, Gokudera must have gotten back to his feet in time and had somehow ended up in his way; most likely without planning to. But if that was the case – then why was he laughing? And why did that sound make him _shiver_? He was about to ask the former of the two questions when the laughter slowly faded, and Hayato spoke. ‘You didn’t really think that just leaving the lights out would be enough to fool me, did you?

Takeshi blinked, confused by the predatory growl in that voice, but managed to pull the smile back to his face. ‘Fool you? I have no idea what you’re talking about, Gokude-‘  
‘Shut up!’ The arms tightened around him, almost painfully, and Takeshi knew better than to ignore the threat that had replaced the growl – it still was predatory, though, and made him shiver again, against his will. ‘When I asked where you were, Juudaime told me you’d left to try and help me with Uri – but you didn’t. So I came to find you in the one place you’d most likely be that wasn’t around the others. Here.’

It wasn’t _what_ Gokudera said that made Takeshi forget to smile and the confused tension in his limbs dissipate at the same time, it was that he was actually _saying_ it. Gokudera never explained things to him; even after more than two years of constantly being around each other, of becoming family, the Storm Guardian rarely ever bothered with telling him why he’d done something, or how he’d done it – those kinds of talks were reserved for Tsuna and Tsuna only.

As if Gokudera was sensing Takeshi’s thoughts and unhappy about the turn they had taken his arms tightened again, pressing them together. He could feel the smaller boy’s breath against his ear now, hotter than he would have expected but at the same time weirdly comforting. Slowly, unconsciously, he raised his own arms and wrapped them around the thinner frame, making the press something mutual and, he knew, much more satisfying for both of them. Still, Gokudera growled into his ear and bit down on his earlobe hard enough to make him gasp quietly. ‘Don’t fucking disappear on me, got it?’ he demanded, obviously not really expecting an answer – and by the time Takeshi had processed the situation enough to be able to give him one, there were lips on his and a tongue in his mouth that was playing with his own, teasing him and silencing any sounds except for small helpless moans that he couldn’t quite suppress. He found his smile again as he felt Gokudera’s nails, blunt as always, digging into the skin of his back at the sounds, and felt it grow even wider when the kiss finally ended and the shorter boy was breathing just as hard as he was. He shuddered when the hands on his back moved down to his ass and _squeezed_ there, with just that amount of pressure that he was sure no-one else would ever get right, and then slid below the faded black denim and the boxers before squeezing again, the feeling of those hands on that particular part of his skin enough to make him arch forward with another low moan. Gokudera let out that dark laugh again before biting down on his collarbone once and stepping back with ease and grace that completely masked how much his chest was heaving by now. ‘Off. Now,’ was all he said – and it was way more than enough for Takeshi, who was by now sure that he did much more than just _want_ contact with Gokudera’s skin, he all-out _needed_ it. He was glad for all his training, though, because that was the only thing that allowed him to keep control of his stubborn limbs and get his remaining clothes off with the grace that fighting had brought him.

When he was naked, he stepped forward without hesitation, expecting to find Gokudera there, most likely still fully clothed, waiting for him to be ready – but there was nothing. Automatically, he strained all his senses to try and determine his position while swallowing a small, questioning and maybe just a little afraid noise that was attempting to crawl out of his throat. To his own partial annoyance and definite confusion, he failed at the former, and was only alerted to where Gokudera had moved to when, seconds later, the lights came on. Blinded, he blinked, and the sound that he’d been suppressing so far found a way out of his mouth. Instinctively, he spread a smile over his face as soon as he managed to fix his eyes on Gokudera – who was advancing on him again, now that they both could see, and predictably still had all his clothes on. ‘Ah, there you are! I was starting to won-‘

‘Shut up!’ Again, that growl. Takeshi obeyed as instinctively as he’d stripped before, but ignored the other, unspoken command – _and don’t move_ – in favour of meeting Gokudera halfway, wrapping his arms around his neck and pulling the Storm Guardian into a slow, open-mouthed kiss that conveyed just how much he wanted him, and how glad he was that Gokudera hadn’t just up and left him in the dojo, naked, alone and needy (or at least he hoped that it did – and if it didn’t, well, then there still was his cock, which was mostly hard by now and very clearly confirming the part about wanting Gokudera). To his immense satisfaction, the shorter boy didn’t push him away and ask questions, but instead kissed back, pulled him closer and dug his fingernails into Takeshi’s ass. The resulting almost-pain, combined with the familiar sting of Gokudera’s teeth now worrying his bottom lip – something he’d started long ago, perhaps during the second time that they’d had sex, and something Takeshi had grown to want almost as much as those hands on him – was what made his eyelids first flutter, then close, and what made a quiet, raspy moan drag out of his throat. What it did _not_ do was make him tremble slightly and cling to Gokudera just the tiniest bit. No, _that_ was entirely due to Gokudera’s presence in front of him, the knowledge that, once again, he was still there, that he still didn’t have the slightest clue about his own feelings, or about Takeshi’s (because for some reason, he was completely certain that once Hayato found out about what he – and here _he_ could be either of them, really – felt, things were going to change. Drastically.).

 

Then, all of a sudden, the pain stopped. Gokudera’s tongue pressed against his, wrapped around it and explored it as if he hadn’t done the exact same thing countless times before. Gokudera’s hands left his ass, trailed over his sides – made him shiver – and over his chest before idly rubbing over his stomach for a second and then, finally, coming up to lightly, teasingly caress his nipples. Takeshi moaned into the kiss at that and clung to Gokudera just a little harder, pressing his by now positively _aching_ cock against the rough fabric of the Storm Guardian’s jeans … and oh yeah, Gokudera still hadn’t shed one piece of clothing so far. Takeshi took that realisation as his cue to change that situation and began pulling his shirt up slowly. Thankfully, he met no objections, but the momentary loss of hot-cold fingers against his skin as Gokudera raised his arms to make pulling the shirt off easier was enough to make him whimper quietly, wanting them _back_ , _now_. (Because only Gokudera’s fingers could ever be burning and freezing at the same time, and in that create a perfection of thrills that always made him long for more.) And then they _were_ back, teasing his nipples, making him tremble and moan again, and he let his eyes slip shut, roaming his hands over Gokudera’s chest, mimicking the movements and touches of the fingers on his own instinctively. He smiled brightly, unconsciously, when his efforts were rewarded with a rough sound that seemed like the perfect combination of a growl and a moan. Then there were lips on his jawline, his throat, his collarbone, and all he could do was gasp and moan and start writhing underneath the hands that had grown less teasing and more rough now, pinching his nipples in synch with the burning kisses, licks and bites that were being scattered over the skin just above his chest. Takeshi stopped thinking about what his hands did and left them to move on their own – in fact, he more or less stopped thinking altogether, and instead lost himself in a delicious spiral of being burned and frozen at the same time, of hands and teeth and lips and tongue and something that came all too close to perfection even for his own taste (because this couldn’t be perfection until they both were aware of what lay beneath the sex, and once that happened, this would stop – so there really was no way that this could ever be–) until suddenly, all of it was over and he was forced back into the too-bright reality of the dojo, naked and panting and hard and needy and _aching_ all over, mostly with loss.

He looked at Gokudera, searching for anything that could explain why he’d so abruptly stopped and stepped back. After a few hazed seconds – during the course of which he couldn’t stop a helpless whine from slipping out, questioning and not understanding the _why_ –, he found it: the Storm Guardian had pulled his pants and boxers down and off, and was now looking at him expectantly. Takeshi felt a broad smile spread over his face again, simply because he got it now, and this was something he knew how to do. He closed the distance between them again, and placed a soft, quick kiss on Gokudera’s half-open mouth (it was still satisfying to know that he could make him breathe just as hard as the other way around) and then began kissing a trail down his pale chest, not bothering to frown at how skinny he was anymore – he knew perfectly well that Hayato ate normally; for some reason, he just never gained weight –, and gracefully descended to his knees as he did. It was a slow process because Takeshi lingered over every indent and every scar as if he still needed to memorise every inch of Gokudera’s skin, kissed each of those places twice and gently licked over them before moving further down. He could sense the impatience the Storm Guardian was trying hard to keep in check, felt it in the way the muscles of his abdomen clenched whenever he halted, and heard it in each and every low, urgent moan that tore itself from the throat of the man standing above him.

 

When he was finally kneeling, he gently placed his hands on Gokudera’s thighs, running them up and down again once before he leaned in and slowly, teasingly licked the tip of Gokudera’s by now fully hard, and probably aching, cock. He closed his eyes, smiled at the sound the silver-haired boy made at his actions – he groaned, and it was almost desperate and somehow simply _wonderful_ to Takeshi’s ears, and he couldn’t help but grin as he licked at him again, this time along the entire underside of him, before taking a deep breath and taking him in. Immediately after that, long, delicate, _strong_ fingers came down and threaded through his short black hair with an ease born of practise and experience, and he felt himself being guided to move exactly the way Gokudera wanted – no, _needed_ , probably –, and he allowed it without hesitation, knowing without doubt that there really was not much of another way for him to do this if he wanted this to be more than just blowjobs (and he did, he wanted that _so much_ ), and so he just kept sucking and teasing the heavy, hot flesh inside his mouth with his tongue, all the while trusting Gokudera to move his head in just the right ways without letting it end and without hurting him (he sometimes did, but there always was a reason to it; one Takeshi could understand without thinking too much, and this time, there would have been none he could get). He knew that he was getting it right when the sounds from above him grew louder, and at the same time more strained and more desperate with each slow, teasing movement of his tongue and lips. As much as they might have both wanted it, _fast_ would have been the wrong way of going at this: it all would have been over much too soon, for both of them. So Takeshi was careful to stay slow, stay teasing, but at the same time tried his hardest to project how much he liked doing this, how much sweeter the ache in his own cock got when Gokudera moaned once again, something that could have been his name but at the same time just as well could have been something else entirely (and he really did not want to think about what that might have been).

 

Maybe he succeeded, or maybe it was something completely different that made Gokudera yank on his hair after what felt like mere seconds – and probably was more than just a few minutes – and shove him backwards in one fluid motion. Then, suddenly, the Storm Guardian was on top of him, pressing him down to the dojo floor (and Takeshi was glad, simply _glad_ , that he slept here frequently enough to always keep the training mats on the ground: they weren’t prone to shifting when he moved on them, but usually kept enough warmth to be comfortable to lie on – oh, _and_ they were way softer than the floor) and nudging his legs apart with one knee – not that that was really necessary, since Takeshi would have parted them willingly anyway, but he knew how much Gokudera relished in that small act of submission from him, and he himself enjoyed playing hard to get once in a while, too – especially if, like now, it only served to make them both more needy, more wanting.

Without uttering a single word, Gokudera slipped one hand down to his cock and took him in hand, stroking him with slow, languid movements (mimicking exactly what Takeshi’s tongue had done earlier, he noticed through the haze that immediately clouded his mind at the touch and made thinking almost impossible, leaving him to acting and reacting only on instinct) and slid the other up, along his chest, tugging at each nipple roughly once before he pressed three fingers against Takeshi’s lips, silently ordering him to suck on them. He obeyed, all the more eager to do so because he knew what would come next, but he still forced himself not to rush, to take the time to lick around each finger separately and make sure they were all equally wet before slowly, reluctantly, releasing them again. He wasn’t disappointed: immediately, that hand moved down as well, this time without touching skin in order to preserve the needed wetness, and then the hand on his cock disappeared (and he was not at all surprised to hear himself whining at the loss of touch, nor did he make even the slightest effort to stay quiet) and his legs were being hoisted over Gokudera’s shoulders, and he had to bite his lip to not groan from the simple knowledge of what was to come.

He made no move to suppress the noises slipping from his mouth – moans and groans, quiet growls and loud, helpless whimpers – as soon as the first finger pressed against his entrance, though. Letting his eyes flutter shut, he gave himself over to the sensation of fingers slowly, carefully working their way into him (and this always had, and always would amaze him: how careful Hayato was while preparing him, how much time he took no matter how needy he himself was, always making sure to not hurt Takeshi in this while purposely doing so in other situations), loosening the muscles inside him and easily finding the spot that made him arch his back and bite his lip again, hard enough to draw blood. With each second that Gokudera spent preparing him, the sounds Takeshi didn’t bother to hold back grew louder, more urgent and more pleading – and soon, it was more than just _sounds_. Words mixed with the moans and whimpers, always the same ones: _‘please’_ , _‘yes’_ , _‘there!’_ and, most often, _‘Gokudera!’_

 

But suddenly, the fingers were gone, and all Takeshi had left to focus on was the same dark laugh that had made him shiver before and now made him tremble and moan and bite his lip _again_ – this time to keep from begging. He knew he didn’t have to beg, knew that he wouldn’t have to wait for long anyway. And he was right; after what felt like seconds (way too long and way too many seconds, though), there was something hot and slick and large at his opening, and there were slim, strong hands on his hips, and then Gokudera was _finally_ pushing in, and it felt _good_ and it was _exactly_ what Takeshi needed, had needed for most of the time that he’d been in here, and he saw no other way to express just what he felt right now than to moan Gokudera’s name, low and drawn-out and desperate, at the exact same time that the Storm Guardian chose to lean forward, bite down on his earlobe again and growl _‘Fuck!’_ into it. Takeshi blindly threw out his arms, needing to ground himself by way of holding on to the boy above him, and Gokudera seemed to understand exactly, because those pianist-like fingers left his hips to guide his arms around a pale neck and then immediately went back to his hips again, splaying out over the bones there and _gripping_ , hard enough to bruise (as if he, too, was trying to ground himself), and then, without another moment of hesitation, he started moving with slow, lingering thrusts that made Takeshi’s body shake because they were too _perfect_ , too much of what he wanted and even more of what he needed.

And then, much too soon for his own comfort, Takeshi’s eyes flew open in shock and he heard himself crying out loudly as Gokudera managed to hit his prostate (though not the other’s name; he’d learned very early on that that was _not good at all_ ), and he felt his entire body tense up as he came, heard Gokudera’s low, possessive groan right next to his ear and then he was coming too, and Takeshi could feel his cock jerking inside him, could feel the wet, hot fluid spreading inside his ass and found that he could do nothing but murmur the Storm Guardian’s name, over and over again, helplessly exhausted with his mind clouded in orgasmic fog (he’d never thought of as mist as he knew other people did sometimes, oddly enough – perhaps his experiences with Mukuro and Viper had left too much of an impact), and then his legs slid off Gokudera’s shoulders and he pulled out slowly – carefully – and slid down onto the mat, settling next to him.

Takeshi gave them both a few minutes to catch their breath, idly noticing that Gokudera was lying on his side, not his back, and that he still had one arm draped over Takeshi’s stomach in a carelessly possessive gesture and not really bringing himself to care or wonder about what it meant. This was one of the things he liked most about sex: while he was having it, and usually for a short while after it had ended, he didn’t bother with questioning the things he observed as he usually did; he simply accepted them and, for the most part, enjoyed them.

 

After some time, however, the stickiness on his belly – his own come – began to cool down and feel distinctly uncomfortable, but when Takeshi tried to tell Gokudera as much, the paler boy wordlessly reached for his own shirt (which was in a careless heap on the floor next to them, along with the rest of their clothes) and used that to wipe the mess off. Takeshi couldn’t help but blink in confusion at that, and turned to his side as well so he was now looking at Hayato. ‘Shouldn’t we … get back to our rooms or something?’ he asked quietly, hesitantly but with a small smile. ‘Tsuna’s going to wonder where you are if you don’t get back …’ With this, it was almost certain that Gokudera would jump to his feet, pull his clothes back on and hurry off in the direction of his room – the idea of Tsuna finding out that the two of them were sleeping together still seemed to scare him on a level that few other things could reach (Bianchi’s Poison Cooking included).

But instead of doing that, the Storm Guardian inched closer to Takeshi now that they were facing each other and tightened his arm around his waist, sighing. ‘We’re staying here for tonight.’  
Takeshi was about to protest, to repeat what he’d just said and appeal to Gokudera’s conscience, but then he noticed the raw gentleness in his eyes and let out a breathless, light, carefree and somehow _happy_ laugh the kind of which he’d so rarely _meant_ ever since they’d arrived here, in this future where his old man was dead and everything he loved seemed to be crumbling around him.

The last thing he saw before closing his eyes and drifting off to sleep in the Storm Guardian’s arms was the small, satisfied smile on said Guardian’s lips.


End file.
